


3. keep it undercover

by peterjackson



Series: Jaysa's Whumptober2020 [3]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alien Guns, Angst, BAMF Peter Parker, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Gun Violence, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Illegal Weapons, Kidnapped Tony Stark, Mandhandled, Mild Swearing, One F bomb, Rogue Avengers, Whump, whumptober2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26881768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterjackson/pseuds/peterjackson
Summary: Whumptober2020 - Day 3They’d targeted Tony on purpose. That was the worst part. They’d needed a genius, an expert weaponeer, a Merchant of Death, and they'd gotten it --- it hadn’t mattered that Tony had left the weapons industry far, far behind him. The mission had turned into an ambush, and despite the panic that had clawed him up from the inside out, despite the surge of strength and adrenaline that had gotten Peter most of the way across the makeshift battlefield, Peter hadn’t gotten there in time. They’d taken Tony and Peter had been left behind with the others, helpless.-+-When Tony gets taken captive during a mission, Peter is forced to go undercover in a weapons facility to try and get him back. Things take a turn for the worst when his cover is blown halfway through.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Avengers, Peter Parker & Rogue Avengers, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Jaysa's Whumptober2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949545
Comments: 8
Kudos: 104





	3. keep it undercover

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the 3rd day of Whumptober! I am fully aware that it is four days late but here we are. Prompts used were: "Manhandled," "Held at Gunpoint," and "Forced to Their Knees." Of course, there is some gun violence, hence the tags, so be careful about that. There is also mild swearing, as in a few words and one F-bomb. 
> 
> Also I was going to name this "don't judge a boy by his cover" so let me know if you like that better. I wasn't sure if it made enough sense.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?”

Peter glanced up, careful not to move his head while Natasha brushed some sort of contouring powder on his nose. “I am. I have to be.”

Natasha clicked her tongue. “Hold still.”

Peter had moved without realizing it. He straightened his head, keeping it still while his eyes moved down to watch Natasha’s face wrinkle with concentration as she blended the makeup against his face. Peter had only worn makeup a few times, when MJ wanted to practice eyeshadow on him. Once as a dare, he’d let her do his whole face (not that it had taken much convincing; Ned liked to laugh about how malleable Peter could be when it came to MJ.)

“You know what you have to say?”

“Mhm.”

“Tell me again,” Natasha ordered, pulling her brush away and staring him down.

Peter resisted the urge to sigh --- knowing that with Tony’s life on the line, they couldn’t be too careful.

“I’m a buyer from Manhattan. Zach Angelo. Nineteen.”

The real Zach Angelo had been detained by Steve earlier. Peter would be going in his stead, and the makeup was to make him look older. With limited resources, Peter hoped it would be enough. Luckily, the underground alien-weapon industry tended to be more on the anonymous side.

“What do you have to do?”

“Meet with the handler,” Peter answered robotically. “He will take me inside, and I will plant the flash drive to disable the security on the outside.”

Not for the first time, Peter wished that Tony was there. Not only did he always have a wealth of tech that was perpetually useful, especially considering that Peter, Nat, Steve, and Sam had next to _nothing_ helpful, but the thought of Tony being held captive in a shady weapon warehouse while being subjected to God-knows- _what_ made Peter sick to his stomach. 

They’d targeted Tony on purpose. That was the worst part. They’d needed a genius, an expert weaponeer, a Merchant of Death, and they’d gotten it --- it hadn’t mattered that Tony had left his old weapons industry far, far behind him. The mission had turned into an ambush, and despite the panic that had clawed him up from the inside out, despite the surge of strength and adrenaline that had gotten Peter most of the way across the makeshift battlefield, Peter hadn’t gotten there in time. They’d taken Tony and Peter had been left behind with the others, helpless.

Peter still couldn’t look at Steve without feeling a flash of anger. Steve had been the one to tackle Peter down and drag him away --- kicking and flailing and screaming himself hoarse. And if Tony didn’t make it out of this…. Peter didn’t think he’d ever forgive Steve for that.

Peter blinked when Natasha prodded his side with the end of a makeup brush. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Natasha eyed him expectantly. He flushed.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Then what?” Natasha prompted.

“I keep them distracted. Keep the eyes on me while you guys slip in.” Natasha tilted her head and he amended himself. “Keep myself _safe,_ while the eyes are on me.”

He took a deep breath before continuing, “Locate Tony if I can. Let you guys know through the comms.”

“Last step.”

“If things go to shit, get myself out.”

Natasha squinted at him. “I can hear the hesitancy in your voice.”

Peter’s eyes flicked between Sam and Natasha before he sighed, looking down at the threadbare couch in the apartment they’d “rented” and picking at the loose threads. “I don’t know how I can leave him there.”

Natasha stood up, wincing a little and hands twitching towards her ribcage. Peter could see the edge of a bandage peeking out from underneath her tank top --- evidence of the nasty hit she’d taken right before things had gone to complete crap. 

Despite the undertone of pain on her face, Natasha’s eyes were hard when she said, “Peter, you and both know that Tony would not want you in there with him.”

“I know---”

“And I’m making sure,” she said. “Walking into this, you are expendable, get that? Tony is the one they want alive. If you get caught, you’re done.”

Peter was opening his mouth before his danger sense could warn him _bad idea ahead._ “You don’t know that.”

Natasha’s eyes flashed. “If you aren’t going to listen, then we figure out another plan.” Peter would have thought she was being a little too harsh if she had not added, eyes determined. “I am _not_ sending you into that facility to die. That is my one condition, understand?”

“I understand.”

Natasha’s eyes softened and her shoulders slumped. “Thank you.” She glanced at Sam, who straightened, then back to Peter, who was on his feet in an instant. “Go change. We leave in ten.”

-+-

Peter stuck his hands in the pockets of the leather jacket he’d had to borrow from Sam, fingers twisting around the flash drive stitched into the inside of his left pocket and the quarter-sized communications unit stitched into his right. His enhanced hearing meant he didn’t need the comms to be next to his ear, and he could still talk to Natasha and Sam and Steve if he figured something out, or if things got dicey.

The weapons facility was nothing more than a few warehouses bunched together and fenced in by barbed wire that wouldn’t stop any determined person with a bolt cutter or a disregard for their personal health. So no --- the barbed wire wouldn’t stop anyone. That was what the cameras rigged to lasers were for.

The facility was also on the docks of the harbor. Peter could hear waves rushing like the blood in his ears and particularly large ones smashing against rocks. The air was damp and salty. Peter got the vague feeling that he was in a bad movie. Except these guys were way more prepared than any villain Peter had ever seen in an action movie. Alien tech was a real piece of work.

When Peter was almost near the entrance, he slowed down. Kept his gait loose, and casual, if not a tiny bit tense to compensate for the fact that he was theoretically making a highly illegal weapons deal. 

Peter winced when he triggered the lights --- they were a blinding yellow that had Peter throwing his arm up to shield his eyes. Natasha had already made one thing clear: let the handlers come to him.

A few seconds later, two men did, emerging from behind large wooden crates stacked in front of the facility. Peter tracked their predatory movements towards him carefully. He worked with criminals enough on the daily to notice the almost imperceptible bumps in their dark clothes --- disguised weapons that Peter didn’t want to end up on the wrong end of.

With the lights in his eyes, Peter couldn’t see their faces, which was surely their intent. One stepped forward, a little taller, a little bigger than the other. He cocked his head.

“It’s a little late for people to be hanging around here,” the thug spoke carefully.

Peter straightened. “I think I took a wrong turn on Angel Street. Any way you can help me out?”

For a moment, Peter was worried that somehow, the passphrase he’d overheard when they’d staked out the building earlier that day was wrong. The thugs shared a look and Peter subtly braced himself, ready to run or fight if it came down to it.

But his hearing hadn’t failed him. The thugs relaxed. The one who’d spoken earlier stepped forward and patted Peter’s upper arm, keeping a grip on it that Peter thought was probably supposed to come off as casual but Peter knew to be threatening. 

“Zachariah,” the man breathed, both of them flanking him and leading him towards the gates. Peter spotted movement around them: men with glowing purple guns that had Peter’s spider sense flaring dully. “I’m Darrell. This is my buddy Jones. We’ll get you set up.”

 _Thank you,_ is what Peter would have said ordinarily. But there were different rules here --- rules that Peter was too afraid to break. “Let’s keep this quick.”

Darrell laughed harshly. “Fuentes pretty much operates on his own schedule, but we’ll see what we can do.”

Peter nodded stiffly, coming to a halt at the same time that Darrell and Jones did. Darrell dug into his pocket with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around Peter’s bicep. Peter eyed him sideways, tensing a little, but Darrell only pulled out a small remote with a glowing teal core and aimed it at the gate in front of them.

Peter kept his surprise at bay as the edges of the fence lit up before swinging open. Darrell pocketed the remote and they kept going. Peter couldn’t resist eyeing him and saying, “Nice tech.”

Darrell shrugged. “This ain’t the half of it.”

Peter believed it, but before he could take another step forward, Jones’ arm shot out and hit his chest. Peter whipped his head around as Jones tilted his head dangerously.

“The bag,” Jones explained. “We’ll have to search it. And you.”

Right. The backpack Peter had also borrowed from Sam. He shrugged it off into Jones’ hands, watching with what he hoped was a neutral or even bored expression. Jones eyed him suspiciously.

“Want to tell me what’s in here first? Feels kinda heavy.”

Peter smiled coolly. “See for yourself.”

Jones narrowed his eyes but unzipped it, reached in, and went slack jawed at the contents: bundles upon bundles of cash, neatly labeled. So much of it that even Peter had not seen so much physical money until Natasha had presented it to him. He couldn’t exactly pose as a weapons buyer if he didn’t have any cash. Luckily, it was all fake --- but really, _really_ good fakes. At least good enough to last while he was inside.

Darrell whistled appreciatively. “Somebody’s come prepared.”

“I’ve been looking forward to this deal,” Peter responded with an uncomfortably mean glint in his eye. “Now if I could see that until later…?”

Jones reluctantly handed it back to him and continued the search --- Peter could tell it was a lot less strict. Money talks, as Mr. Stark sometimes said. When they were satisfied, they resumed their walk inside.

They passed more men who eyed them curiously as Darrell and Jones led Peter to the biggest warehouse. 

Peter didn’t know what he was expecting when he walked inside, but it wasn’t this: a massive room with shelved walls --- as high as the ceiling --- packed full of tech. Large tables and engineering equipment filled most of the space --- Peter could see people in protective masks hunched over the tables, sparks flying around them as they welded together pieces of steel and chunks of salvaged Chitauri parts. Peter was startled to see that at least of the workers were barely older than he was. Peter wondered how the hell they'd gotten themselves wrapped up in this.

“This way,” Jones muttered for the first time, grabbing Peter’s elbow and pulling him past rows of tables that he had to force himself to look away from. “Boss is dealing with a new… employee if you will.”

Him and Darrell laughed harshly, as Peter’s mind raced, linking the possibility that they might have been talking about Tony, who had to be somewhere past the winding hallways up ahead.

Peter wished he could crane his head around the hallways and check. Or better yet, get somewhere quiet and listen. 

“ _Peter,_ ” he heard Natasha hiss from the comms in his pocket. “ _Don’t do anything stupid. Stick with the plan._ ”

But his mouth was already opening as he whipped his head around to face Darrell. “Do you guys have a bathroom anywhere?”

Darrell’s face went slack. He glanced at Jones, who tightened his grip on Peter’s arm. Peter forced a nonchalant smile.

“If you don’t that’s fine,” he said quickly, heart pounding. “It’s just been a long drive down here, you know?”

Darrell squinted and Peter thought his heart might explode at that point. “I guess we can take you to the bathroom before you see ‘im. Lucky you asked us, though. Fuentes is not as patient, especially with new clients. I guess you know that, though, since he’s your cousin.”

Peter almost choked and for the first time, he was struck with real panic that he desperately snuffed out before it could play on his face. Inside, his mind was reeling. He hadn’t overheard that they were _cousins_ \--- he was _screwed._ Fuentes was going to call him out as soon as he saw him, and most likely, he’d kill him if Peter couldn’t think up a good reason for being there. But now, he was insanely glad that he’d asked for a detour. He furiously hoped he could come up with a new plan, maybe even sneak away and break Tony out himself, but Jones and Darrell were watching him and he couldn’t afford to gain any of their suspicion before he met the actual boss guy.

Maybe if he was lucky, he and Fuentes --- the head of operations, apparently --- were really, _really_ estranged cousins.

Even Peter wasn’t naive enough to think that his Parker Luck would let that happen.

They veered left, down a hallway that had been partially obscured by shelves the same height as the ceiling --- which was at least forty feet tall. Peter almost winced when he saw the poster of Spider-Man halfway down the hallway: pinned to a dartboard and full of puncture holes.

“Not a fan?” Peter asked lightly before he could stop himself. 

Darrell glanced where Peter had been looking without slowing down and scoffed. “You could say that.”

Jones cast a dark look Peter’s way. “I’d kill him if I ever got the chance.”

 _Fun,_ Peter thought to himself as they finally reached a set of doors.

“Same,” he managed weakly.

Darrell laughed. “You’re a funny guy, Angelo.”

_Nothing about this is funny._

Peter was pretty sure he was well and truly screwed when they finally rounded the corner and were met with a wider hallway with labeled bathrooms. He almost cried when he saw that it wasn’t just Darrell and Jones in the hallway. A decent amount of people were lingering in this hallway, which smelled like cigarette smoke.

Jones gestured to the bathroom up ahead. “We’ll wait for you out here.”

Peter slipped the backpack off his shoulders and leaned it besides the door --- a peace offering, or maybe some fake insurance so that Darrell and Jones wouldn’t suspect him of doing anything fishy (which, to be fair, he was about to try to do.)

“Thanks, man,” Peter said with a tight smile, fingers brushing against the silver knob.

_Think. Figure something out._

Peter’s mind remained tantalizing blank of ideas. How was he supposed to slip away when he was surrounded by people? He never had a chance to open the door. Right as his fingers were curling around the handle, shouts broke out a few yards away. Peter turned his head in sync with Jones and Darrell, just in time to see the fight break out.

“Holy shit,” Peter said without thinking as two guys basically mauled each other. 

Darrell and Jones weren’t making a move to intervene --- until one of the guys pulled out a silver gun, clearly of alien descendancy, and fired it.

Screams went up then from the small crowd gathered around. Purple light blasted everywhere, and the lights went out in the room, bathing them in pitch darkness. Peter watched as glow in the dark, neon purple acid crawled across the floor, dissolving it.

He glanced at Darrell, whose face he couldn’t see enough to read but was standing rigider than before. “Is that normal?”

“No,” they both breathed, and when the fight continued --- blasts of purple lights creating a headache-inducing strobe light (and _distracting_ ) display, and Darrell and Jones both ran towards it with a thrown back, “Stay here,” Peter made his move.

He wouldn’t have done it if the lights weren’t down but they were and this was his only chance --- Peter sprinted down a hallway, narrating what he was doing in quiet breaths to Natasha and the others.

Peter didn’t know where he was going, but he followed the sound of what he was pretty sure was computer fans and monitors whirring and didn’t stop until he was in front of a door labelled _SECURITY._

Peter didn’t waste one second, he threw it open and was immensely grateful he didn’t have to knock anyone out. The room was empty of life, was basically wallpapered in screens and tech, but Peter’s eyes spotted a small warning screen that read: _Restoring lights. 45 seconds… 44 seconds…_

He fumbled for the flash drive in his pocket, ripping the false pocket seam open, and shoving the thing into the first drive slot he saw on the main monitor. He waited five seconds before Nat yelled through the comms, “ _We’re in! Get the hell out of there._ ”

Peter spun around on his heel and booked it for the room he was in before, heart pounding at this point. He tried to keep a mental countdown in his head and started to panic when he realized that he might not make it back to where he was --- that everything might be ruined then and there --- but he made it. Barely.

When the lights came back on, and the two guys were ripped away from each other with exhausted curses from the other bystanders, Darrell and Jones were just then loping up towards Peter, who was standing in front of the bathroom door with the backpack thrown over his shoulder and a pained smile on his face.

“All done,” Peter said. “Where to next?”

“Here should be fine,” Jones answered, walking Peter back towards the crowd, which was rapidly dispersing. “Boss is already on his way over. He doesn’t tolerate workers using his tech to fight.”

Peter blanched. “Understandable. And where---”

“Jones,” a commanding voice said from in front of them, a man emerging through the remainder of the crowd that wordlessly parted before him, then stopped to observe the interaction that Peter was rapidly starting to be afraid of. “Darrell. Mickey said you were with my cousin.”

Fuentes not only managed to be physically imposing, but everything about him took up space, even in the wide, airy hallway intersection. Maybe it had something to do with his Armani suit, like something Tony would wear if he shopped at Italian Mobster21. His flinty eyes glided right over Peter, not stopping --- like he didn’t recognize him. Peter bit his tongue hard. He didn’t know what to do.

Fuentes’s eyes drifted back to Peter, head tilting dangerously. The man glanced at his lackeys, nodding his head towards Peter between them. “Who is that?”

 _“Peter, can you get out of there?”_ Natasha was wasting her breath --- Peter was stuck.

Bile climbed up Peter’s throat as Darrell shot Peter, then his boss, a confused look. 

“This is Zach Angelo, sir.”

Fuentes laughed --- cold and dangerous as his fingers drifted towards his waistband. “Is that who he said he was?”

Peter blinked and there was a gun aimed at his face. He swallowed, brain short-circuiting. Fuentes’s finger twitched towards the trigger.

“I’ll ask you this one time,” Fuentes said slowly. “And I want the truth before I blast your head open. Who the hell are you?”

Peter’s heart dropped.

-+-

Tony had to admit: a makeshift cell in a cheesy warehouse was not where he had planned to spend his evening. It was stuffy and rank and barren and borderline hypothermia-inducing, but unfortunately, Tony had seen worse, and the weapons dealers who had taken him probably knew that. 

The demands he’d been given were clear, the threats even more so, so Tony had done a good job of looking busy outwardly while inside his mind spun, ranging from thoughts of rescue to _how the hell do I keep stalling_?

At least he knew that rescue _was_ coming. He may not be so confident if it had just been the others, but Tony knew damn well that with Peter involved, it was only a matter of time. He only hoped that it was soon.

Three sharp raps sounded against the six inch thick steel door. Tony looked up and groaned, dropping his pencil sloppily on the table pushed sloppily against the left side of the room. He had to say that the fake sketches he was coming up with, and the equations he’d scribbled around them, were pretty impressive --- but he didn’t want to test their patience anymore than he needed to (they’d already shown him what they were capable of after he had pushed them too far in the first few hours, and Tony now had a mosaic of bruises on his chest and arms that proved it.)

“I’m going,” Tony droned, glaring at the door. “It’s not my fault you gave me a shitty inventory to---”

He straightened and stopped when he heard the sound of the lock scraping as it was pulled back. The door cracked open, and a guard entered, gun brandished and aimed at Tony’s chest: Tony who quickly put his hands up and stepped back.

“What’s the problem?” he asked quickly, glancing between the black barrel and the plethora of sketches scattered on the table to his left.

“Back against the wall,” the guard ordered, and the mean expression and twitchy trigger finger didn’t give Tony much room to do anything but comply. He moved to the center of the room and backed up until his back was against the wall.

Tony had thought that he’d come to check in on how the sketches were doing, but instead of seizing the blueprints Tony had drawn up, the guard simply kept his gun aimed at Tony, expression cool. 

“Is this some sort of fear tactic?” Tony drawled, unimpressed. “Because if I am being honest---”

“Quiet, Stark,” the guard snapped, glancing between Tony and the door, still ajar. Tony would be a liar if he said he wasn't considering making a run for it. Eyes still on Tony, the guard reached one hand up towards his ear piece and spoke into the activated mic. “Stark is contained. Bring him in.”

Tony’s eyebrows drew together in confusion, but before he could even make an attempt at figuring out what the guy was talking about, the answer was dragged into the room between two guards.

Tony’s heart stopped. 

_No no no no no. Not the kid --- anybody but the kid. How the hell did they get him?_

The two guards that dragged Peter into the room had him by his hair and his arms, which were cuffed behind his back. Peter was weakly trying to pull free of their grip, face white with fear and dark with fresh, darkening bruises, and Tony couldn’t tell whether or not Peter was meaning to hold back.

For a split second as Peter was manhandled through the doorway, their eyes met. Peter’s eyes were wide and panicked, and a thrill of fear went down Tony’s spine. Clearly, Peter had not intended to end up with Tony. As it was, Tony stood stock still as Peter was shoved down onto his knees. There were two men holding him, and as Tony watched, one of them grabbed Peter’s hair, twisted his hand to get a painful-looking grip on Peter’s curls, and forced his head to stay down. Peter glared at the floor, breathing hard. If Tony had been in his suit, there was no doubt that he would have lit the two men up right then and there.

But he wasn’t in his suit; he didn’t have any of his tech. He was in a cell in the middle of a high tech, fully equipped weapons facility and now Peter was there. Peter who he couldn’t protect --- not really.

He’d have to play things differently.

Tony tore his eyes away from Peter as Fuentes strolled in --- his suit still a disgrace and his mobster haircut looking more gelled up than the last time Tony had seen the man --- a cold smile twitching on his lips.

Tony eyed Fuentes coolly --- it was all he could do to pretend that his chest was not collapsing in on itself. “What’s going?” He eyed Peter with a carefully constructed air of disinterest. “Who is this?”

Peter tried to look up, but his head was shoved down again. He heard Peter let out a harsh breath.

Fuentes raised an eyebrow, gesturing vaguely towards Peter with a black handgun. “You don’t know?”

Tony squinted at Peter like he was thinking before glancing back at Fuentes. “I can’t say that I do.”

Fuentes cocked his head. “That’s funny. Because he said he knows _you,_ Stark.”

A muscle in Tony’s jaw twitched. “Maybe he’s a fan.”

“Very funny, Stark,” Fuentes said. When Tony didn’t say anything, Fuentes sighed. “Well, if that’s the case, the boy has no use to me anymore, does he?” 

Before Tony could process what that meant, Fuentes crossed behind Peter and leveled his handgun to the back of Peter’s head.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, bottom lip trembling, and Tony’s breath hitched.

“Wait.”

Fuentes raised an eyebrow. “Got something to say, Stark?”

“You got me,” Tony said raggedly. “I lied, okay? Of course I know the kid. He’s my intern, so--- so don’t shoot him. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Fuentes’ eyes sparkled and he finally lowered his gun. “Now that’s what I like to hear.” He glanced at Peter, who was breathing shallowly and not daring to look up and then back to Tony, eyes hard. “I want those blueprints, Stark. And I imagine you don’t want me to see me put a bullet into the kid’s head.”

“Obviously not,” Tony grit out, clenching his fists so hard he thought he might break a knuckle.

“Then I suppose we’d better come to a compromise, shouldn’t we?”

Tony didn’t say anything --- he didn’t need to. Of course he would --- he would do anything for Peter, and that was probably why Peter was in front of him, alive and definitely hurt if the fresh bruises on his face were any indication, instead of dead for being caught sneaking into the weapons facility --- however the hell the kid had done it.

“I’m going to need a response, Stark,” Fuentes droned boredly. 

When Tony hesitated, Fuentes’ eyes flashed. Tony flinched at the gunshot that followed --- he hadn’t even see Fuentes move his gun --- and Tony’s heart almost ripped free of his ribcage at the bullet that embedded itself in the wall five inches above Peter’s head.

“Jesus _fuck_ , okay!” Tony yelled, eyes wide with horror. Peter was squirming even more now. “I’ll do it, I already said that.” 

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Fuentes said with a smirk. He glanced at Peter who, as soon as he caught Fuentes’ gaze, glared at him. “Release him, but keep the cuffs.”

Tony eyed Fuentes narrowly, but Fuentes only shrugged. The other men obliged, stepping back with their hands dropping to their sides. When Peter took too long to stand up, Fuentes grabbed his hair, hauled him up, and basically tossed him towards Tony, who grit his teeth and gripped Peter’s arm to stabilize him.

“I’d advise you not to waste any more of my time,” Fuentes said as his guards filed out before him. “You have four hours. If you’re not done, the kid dies.”

Tony nodded curtly. Fuentes grinned before slamming the door shut behind him. The lock slid back into place from the outside.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter panted, voice shaky. “Are you okay?”

Tony swung around, heart jumping as Peter clutched his side, wobbling on his feet. Between heart palpitations, he saw the steel cuffs in Peter's hands that had been fastened around his wrists seconds before. Peter slipped them into his pocket, swaying on his feet and face washed gray.

“Peter. Kid. Talk to me, what’s going on?”

In reply, Peter weakly peeled back one side of his jacket, and Tony swore at the sight of the large dark wet spot staining his side. Blood. He hadn’t seen it against the black of the leather jacket but now he did and his heart palpitated. Peter was shivering, and Tony was quick to do what he could.

“Come on,” Tony said, voice strained, offering his arm out. “Let’s have you sit down.”

Peter nodded gratefully as Tony led him to the only other piece of furniture in the cell besides the table: a gray, threadbare twin mattress shoved in the corner. Tony helped Peter sit with his back against the wall before inspecting the wound.

“What happened?”

Peter grimaced. “Fuentes shot me. It’s just a graze, and it’s already healing it just--- _ah_ \--- hurts.”

Tony squeezed his hand but they both knew there was nothing they could do. Peter looked like he was telling the truth for once. “Where are the others?”

Peter cracked a grin. “On their way in, hopefully. Nat sent me in to plant a flash drive---” Tony’s heartbeat and his eyebrows rocketed upwards but Peter saw the look on his face and explained, “It was the only way. After you, uh, after you were taken, we had to go back to this dingy apartment and figure something out. We staked out the building and overheard someone talking about a buyer around my age that would be showing up tonight, so I pretended to be him so they would let me in---”

“Kid, hold on,” Tony said, eyes flicking up towards the ceiling where he had spotted the almost imperceptible cameras within five minutes of being tossed into his cell.

Peter followed his gaze sharply. “The cameras are down, Mr. Stark. I _did_ plant the flash drive. We can talk.”

Tony’s mind was whirling. He could barely comprehend the idea that Peter --- his, his _kid,_ basically --- had willingly entered this hellish facility to save him. Tony never would have allowed it, considering that Peter getting hurt was up there with his top five most frequent nightmares, but he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t a little proud, even if Peter had gotten hurt in the process.

“How’d you run into Fuentes?” Tony found himself asking.

Peter winced. “Yeah, so apparently the guy I was masquerading as was Fuentes’ cousin.” At the look on Mr. Stark’s face, Peter barked out a rough laugh. “Yeah, not my best moment. But I got the drive in and I’m with you, so…”

Tony’s eyes flicked down to Peter’s side. Peter noticed and bit his lip, shifting a little. “The guy’s a maniac, Mr. Stark, you had to have seen it in him. He found me out after like three seconds of seeing him and got me on the floor and started, um, well." Peter swallowed uncomfortably, bruises looking like splashes of paint on his pale face. "They kicked me a lot, punched me, roughed me up basically---” Peter glanced at Tony’s face and hurried on, “Then when I tried to get up, Fuentes pulled a gun out and kind of shot me---” Tony felt sick again at _that_ thought but Peter somehow managed to ramble even faster. “--- _Which_ you don’t even have to worry about because it’s fine even though it hurts like a um, a _chic_ \---”

“I know you swear, Peter, I’ve heard you on the phone with Ted---”

“Only the good bad words, Mr. Stark,” Peter interjected quickly. “And it’s Ned. Anyways, I figured I could either, a) reveal my identity and get out---”

“I almost rather you would have done that,” Tony muttered under his breath.

Peter shook his head. “Uh, no you wouldn’t. They had a dartboard with Spider-Man’s face on it, Mr. Stark. I’m pretty sure I would have actually died if they figured me out.”

Tony vaguely wondered if Peter was aware that he had just set the record for how many mini heart attacks he could give Tony in five minutes. He didn’t seem aware.

“Or _b),_ ” Peter finished. “Offer myself up as leverage and see if they’d take me to you.” Peter looked up and managed a tired grin. “And here I am.”

_And here you are._

Tony nodded thoughtfully, glancing towards the door and then at the table. His fake blueprints were rolled up on the steel surface. Tony would make sure that they couldn’t even hope to salvage those when he was done with the warehouse.

“There’s a lot of young people here, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, digging into his jacket pocket. Tony heard a faint ripping sound and tilted his head. “They were just building the weapons, I don’t--- they weren’t--- weren’t like Toomes.”

Tony didn’t know if he believed Peter completely, considering the kid always managed to see the best he could in people, but as long as Fuentes and the specific thugs who had hurt Peter were among the ones who were either imprisoned or slightly maimed, then Tony would make sure that they achieved some sort of reform or better option.

“ETA on rescue?” Tony asked, after the silence between them had grown comfortable and long. 

Peter pulled from his pocket a small black object the size of a quarter and held it up. “Nat says in thirty minutes.” Peter squinted and tilted his head like he was listening to something before glancing back at Tony. “Uh, actually maybe closer to an hour.”

Tony scrunched up his face. “An hour? We working with amateurs here?”

Peter laughed and passed Tony the comms. “I’m pretty sure she’s getting S.H.I.E.L.D or the FBI down here, Mr. Stark. It’s a big facility. But you can talk to her.”

Tony faux-begrudgingly took the tiny device and placed it in his ear. “Agent Romanoff.”

“ _It’s nice to hear your voice, Tony,”_ Natasha said. “ _How’re you hanging in there?”_

“Poorly,” Tony said deadpan, glancing at Peter and watching him slip off his jacket. Tony scrunched his face and mouthed, _What are you doing_?

Peter held up his jacket, balled it up, eased himself down on his side, mindful of the healing bullet wound, and used the balled-up jacket for a makeshift pillow. “‘m taking a nap, Mr. Stark. It’s been a long day.”

Tony blinked, watching Peter genuinely get himself comfy stretched across the gross mattress. He had to admit that the kid made a pretty peaceful sleeper, and at least if he was sleeping, that was less gray hairs he’d be giving Tony in the next hour.

“ _Is he seriously sleeping_?”

Tony shrugged, leaning against the wall by Peter’s legs and finally relaxing. He trusted Natasha to work things out from her side and he was glad to finally have something to do besides look busy. 

“What can I say? He’s had a long day.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Find me on Tumblr @itsy-bitsy-spider-fan
> 
> I have also decided to take Whumptober and use it as an opportunity to improve my writing so if anyone has constructive criticism please feel free to comment, as long as it is also constructive and not just criticism. :) 
> 
> Thanks again for reading and if you liked it, consider dropping a comment or just hitting kudos if you enjoyed :D


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